Scorched
by Artemis Rain
Summary: VDay fic, LG: What do you get the illtempered, antisocial pyromaniac who has everything?


Disclaimer: I do not own Joan of Arcadia, or Invader Zim. Unfortunately. I do, however, own a shiny hat!

Author's Note: This fic was written as a response to a request from the friendly folks at Chemical Breakdown. Sorry, guys, I couldn't find a way to include the phrase "flames of DESTRUCTION," but the pyro spirit is still there! I hope.

Grace Polk hated Valentine's Day. She always had, as far back as she could remember. It was one of those facts of life; certain, immutable. Apples fall from trees. Cats always land on their feet. Grace Polk hated Valentine's Day, and this one was no exception, boyfriend be damned. She wasn't too concerned about Rocket Boy getting all sappy on her; she knew he despised ritualized gift-giving almost as much as she did. Still, he had a strong romantic side, which was worrisome, especially on this day. It wasn't that she didn't care for him, or didn't appreciate knowing that he cared for her; it was the principle of the thing. They had discussed it at length the day before, walking back from school. She had attacked the commercialization and emptiness of the holiday, of course. It wasn't a celebration of real emotion, just corporate America selling its idealized and heavily stereotyped notions of "luv" to impressionable minds in order to pick the pockets of the susceptible. It was Hallmark dictating when and how people involved romantically with each other were to express their feelings, and even going so far as to dictate what those feelings were. She refused to follow their orders. Besides, listening to his crazy sister bather on, starry-eyed, about her plans with Rove was making her sick.

He agreed, of course, that the day was too commercial to be meaningful, but defended the principle. Why shouldn't there be a day for lovers? There was a day for everyone and everything else. Yes, and she hated those days, too. Something in his voice, or perhaps it was his eyes, told her she hadn't heard the last of it.

She was surprised, therefore, when the dreaded fourteenth day of the second month of the year passed without incident. She arrived at school, tried not to barf at the sight of the halls decorated in big red hearts, and met the geek in the Biology closet for a before-class make-out session. She was at once relieved and, though she'd never admit it, even to herself, a tiny bit disappointed that he didn't say or do anything to acknowledge the day. Classes came and went, couples made googly eyes at each other, and Grace Polk hated Valentine's Day.

Atom-Boy had an after-school meeting of the Astronomy club, so Grace walked home alone. Normally, spending time with him made her feel light, almost happy, and certainly there was a strong connection between them she could neither deny nor define. This day, however, for reasons she did not feel comfortable examining, she felt heavy, and a little dark. The smell of alcohol that greeted her at the door informed her that her mother was home early. She hadn't lied when she'd told Girardi that she'd talked to her mom. They had talked. The conversation hadn't changed much of anything, but she felt her mother was beginning to come to terms with the fact that she had a problem. She felt reluctant to tell Girardi, though. He was a scientist, and was under the delusion that for every problem in life, a formula could be applied to determine a solution. There was no formula for her life; yet, somehow, for reasons that made her uncomfortable to consider, she couldn't bring herself to shatter his illusions quite yet. Her mother greeted her enthusiastically, and Grace smiled in return. After a lifetime of working to cover up her mother's problem, smiling had become calculated. Smiles were things that happened to her face, not to her heart. Except lately, spending time with him, she had been surprised more than once to discover that she was smiling without realizing it. She almost wondered why that was, but clamped down on that thought quickly. It didn't matter; she didn't care. Didn't she? Well, sure, she cared about _him_, but that's all it was: caring. He made her smile. Sometimes he even made her laugh. She cared about him, and that was enough. No need to apply any stronger words, especially to feelings she couldn't bring herself to examine. No, caring is enough.

She entered her room, closed and locked the door behind her. Wondering what she could do to distract herself from this unwanted train to thought, she spied the stack of VCDs on her dresser, filled with downloaded episodes of Invader Zim. Perfect. She set up her laptop, loaded a disc at random, and made herself comfy on the floor, by the foot of her bed. She was so absorbed in NOT considering the similarities and differences between Girardi and Dib, that the sun began to set without her noticing. She was startled, therefore, by a sudden tapping at her window. It was him. Boy Wonder had climbed the tree next to her window, the one she uses to sneak in and out of her house at night. She opened the window.

"What are you doing here, Freak?"

He climbed into her room, setting his backpack on the floor.

"Well, I couldn't just let Valentine's Day pass without doing anything."

With a shock, she realized she was smiling. He reached into his backpack and handed her… the smile melted from her face. It was disgusting. She held in her hand a large red paper heart, covered in little pink hearts, kiss marks and glitter. The whole thing was bordered by the frilliest lace she had ever seen. In the middle, in perfect handwriting, were the words: "Roses are red, Violets are blue, Hallmark told me, That I love you." The whole thing had a strange texture to it, as though it had been covered in wax. She looked at him, dumbfounded, and a little mad.

"What the hell is this?"

He smiled. "Ah, well, that's just the first part of your present." He reached back into the bag and pulled out a small lighter. "It's very flammable. Or at least most of it is." He handed her the lighter, and pulled out a large metal bowl that looked like it may have once been used for baking, but was now blackened on the inside. "Here, put it in this. I use it for experiments that involve combustion reactions. I thought you might appreciate seeing a symbol of everything you despise about this blatantly corporate, rampagingly consumerist holiday go up in flames. You should know that I made that out of stuff I found in the house. No money was sacrificed to the corporate elite in the making of this Valentine."

Huh. She was smiling again; stupidly, in fact. With something she would never in her wildest dreams describe as "glee," she flicked on the lighter, ignited the side of the Valentine and dropped it into the bowl. It landed face-up, which was perfect because as the flames consumed it, she noticed something strange. He must have covered it in a mixture of flammable and fire-resistant chemicals (that only he would be dork enough to have lying around in his room), because the decorations were burning off, but the Valentine itself was remaining relatively intact. In fact, as the smaller hearts were curling up and turning to ash and the poem was burned off, she noticed that the fire was beginning to take a certain shape. Yes, definitely. The centre of the Valentine was burning in a very clear and particular pattern. The flames were forming words. As she watched, the last of the decorations burned up, and the only thing left of the Valentine was a charred heart with a few scraps of blackened lace clinging to the sides and the words "Anti-Valentine" still glowing in the centre. The glowing subsided, the remains cooled, and the words were left scorched in place. She laughed, looked up and met his eyes.

"Dude! That was, like, the coolest thing I've ever seen!"

She was smiling again and she couldn't stop. She felt light, and free, and happy, and she understood why. No amount of hiding, or avoidance, or denial could make it untrue. It was enough. She leaned in close,

"I have something for you, too." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and brushed her lips softly, sweetly against his. Leaning in farther, she brought her mouth right up to his ear and whispered "I love you."

The smile on his face could have lit up the planet. Coincidentally, it matched hers perfectly. "I love you, too."

"Yeah, I know." Their lips met again, but were interrupted by a shriek of insane laughter from the laptop on her dresser. He eyed the stack of CDs, and the animated robot with bright green eyes running in circles on the screen, with bewilderment.

"What on earth are you watching?"

She regarded him with surprise. "You've never seen Invader Zim?" He shook his head. "Well, get comfy, Loverboy, 'cause you're not leaving this room until proper introductions have been made!"

She pulled him over to the foot of her bed, where they had the best view of the screen. He slipped an arm around her shoulders and she relaxed into his embrace, while explaining the basic plot of the episode and describing the characters, while at the same time trying her hardest to get the silly grin off her face. After all, Grace Polk hated Valentine's Day, no matter how much she loved the people she spent it with.


End file.
